which face?
again, the voices
disagree-
open the cage
or pour the honey?
after a long silence
either action will
wound.
which voice speaks
for me? which face
will suit?
--
son
little explosions
mark his passage
feet aggressively
pounding the ground
rattling furniture and
dust-covered baubles
primitive structure
of language and form
carefully chosen words
and a smile, to tell
us stories of tiny
moons in juice or
big noodles
he turns us
into mirrors, he
makes us plants.
--
haiku
there are no words now
traffic noise and wind are all
sunday after noon.
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2 comments:
You're doing great, Natasha! Thanks for joining me. The "tiny moons in juice" line made me smile. I like that one especially.
Natasha,
I love the imagery, especially in your second poem.
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